Forgotten Warmth
by Layrenn
Summary: Gilbert has seen many nations die. But, this was different. This was a nation, a child, he had sworn to protect. And he had broken that promise. The Holy Roman Empire will fall, and take his little brother with it.
1. Chapter 1

Hallo! Er, thank you for clicking on my story, and please read and review! Because reviews make Layrenn happy? Also, this supports the HRE=Germany theory. And I'm curious; does anyone here not support that theory? If you don't, feel free to explain and stuff. Because I'd like to hear it.

I don't own APH, it'd be so much more depressing if I did.

(Edited: 7-13-10)

* * *

_1806_

It was a stark contrast, the brilliant green of the summer grass drenched with blood's deep crimson. The field had once been beautiful; days spent here during happier times littered his memories. Now it was stained with death. That was all the young teen could focus on. The colors of the godforsaken battlefield. Because, if he tried to think about anything else, he was not sure that he would be able to stay sane.

In truth, he was not sure if he still had his sanity.

He walked among the bodies of the men he fought with; the men who swore to fight for him, or die trying. His clear blue eyes wide, staring forward. But, at the same time, not missing a single detail. Each one of those pallid, bloodied faces he recognized, each one etched in his mind forever. An image he would never forget for as long as he lived.

Which, he suddenly realized, may not be much longer.

The Holy Roman Empire was falling, and Ludwig was that empire. He would fall with it.

Soon he would disappear. He would die. The Holy Roman Empire, the child empire, gone forever. Then, he would be forgotten. Maybe a distant memory, maybe simply lost in time.

They would all forget.

Austria, his brother…

…Italy.

No. It has been centuries since he left Italy, she had every right to forget about him, to move on. They had promised that after the war that they would see each other again. Hundreds of years had passed since the end of that war. They had not seen each other since. Ludwig had broken their promise, she would be better off without him.

Even if it broke his heart.

Sinking to the muddied ground, he lifted his gaze, staring at the sky. Grey clouds shrouded the once endless expanse of blue. Stray droplets of cold rain fell, leaving little darkened splotches in the dirt.

It was raining.

How appropriate.

There was no one left to save him. He was alone, left to die. No one cared.

No one _wanted_ to save him…

Maybe he was better off dead.

He should just stand up and face it like the man he always wanted to be.

Taking a shuddering breath, he stood. His legs were quivering under him. His pulse was racing. Even so, he put on a calm façade. He was not brave; he was not ready to die. He was afraid, horrified.

And, yet, he couldn't let that show.

Prussia abandoned him, and somehow he still listened to his advice. Somehow, he still remembered and did what he was told to do in battle. Why did he still listen? Why did he even try? What did it matter anymore…?

Nothing mattered anymore.

A tremor ran down his spine as all-too-familiar voices reached his ears, waking him from his thoughts. One was loud, boisterous, with too much pride and too little humility, the other calmer, quieter, but with a silent confidence.

Speak of the devil, one might say.

It was Gilbert and Roderich, Prussia and Austria.

Had they come for him? Did they actually care?

Was he that gullible?

His brother and his former caretaker had no reason to be here other than to finish him off. To fool him into believing that they were there for him, and then kill him. He was nothing to them anymore, and they would be nothing to him.

Right?

Ludwig stood his ground, feet firmly dug into the dirt, eyes confident, black cloak fluttering in the wind, billowing around him. Nothing in his stature gave away the terror gripping at his heart, the pain of betrayal and physical injuries clawing at his skin.

Gilbert's eyes lit up as they lay upon his younger brother, a broad smile pulling at the corners of his lips. "Hey, West! Glad to see you're okay!"

All that fear, all that distrust melted away immediately. The innocent, naïve child in him fully believed that they had come for him, that they would bring him home. He smiled back at his brother, but stayed in place. Although he was filled with ignorant trust, he refused to show how soft he had become.

Not to mention the small voice in his head telling him that they were here to kill him.

With a muted scoff, Roderich shook his head, "What he means is; are you alright? You should not be out here. Especially with France around."

_France. _

His heart stopped for a fraction of a second at the sound of that name, his eyes widened, he nearly stopped breathing. The teen backed away, standing on his toes as if at the slightest sound he would turn and run. Not only did the name horrify him, but also the realization that came with it.

France has been a friend of Gilbert for as long as he could remember. He would never betray France, right? Then, would it be so simple for his brother to lead him here, to Ludwig? Maybe his brother really was going to lead him to his death?

Gilbert's grin faltered, his eyebrows kneaded together in confusion, "_Brüderlein_? What's the matter? You're not hurt, are you?"

With all his heart, Ludwig wanted to trust his brother; he wanted to believe the two men who had raised him. Yet, he knew that he could never trust anyone, no matter how well he believed he knew them.

Prussia would always be self-centered. It was who he was. If his death, the dissolution of the Holy Roman Empire, would benefit him, then he had little doubt that Gilbert would not think twice about allowing his little brother to die.

And Austria…

Although Roderich had sounded genuinely concerned about his safety, Ludwig knew that it could all be an act. If they were leading France to him, they would have to gain his faith. What better way to do that then to be caring?

They really believed he was that gullible.

A decision had to be made. Would he run? Or would he go with them?

_I am going to die anyways, right?_

His blue eyes looked into his brother's crimson. There had to be something there that would give away their lies. But there was nothing. Nothing at all.

_But…Maybe I can have only a little hope, a little belief that my own big brother wouldn't let me die…Maybe I could die without feeling as if I had been abandoned by the world. I could believe that maybe I ran for my own behalf, not because I thought they were going to play a part in my death. _

Ludwig's lips parted, words formed on his lips, but disappeared before they reached the chill air. The two men stared at him questioningly, Gilbert leaning over to be at eye level with his younger brother. He held up his hand, beckoned him to grab it, as if when he did he would be swept away to safety and happiness.

And Ludwig knew he had to run.

Because there was no way he could accept that these two people, for whom he cared about so much, could betray him. And whether it was simply paranoia or if it was actual reality, he knew that if he went with them, France would be waiting there to kill him.

And he didn't want to die knowing that the only people he could trust had led him to it.

He wanted to die still loving them.

"Why?" Ludwig finally asked, a heartbreakingly sad smile forming on his lips, "Why me?"

Then, quickly turning on his heel, he ran from his last hope, his only chance at life.

He could hear them calling after him, yelling his name repeatedly.

"_Ludwig!"_

"_Ludwig!"_

He could hear their heavy footsteps behind him. But, he was smaller, more agile. It was no question that he could outrun them. They did not stand a chance.

"_Stop!"_

"_In front of you!"_

What?

Ludwig stopped dead in his tracks, nearly fell forward, and heard that there were no more footsteps behind him, no more voices. It was as if the world had come to a complete halt, not even the wind blew, nor did the rain seem to fall. All he could hear were his harsh, choking breaths.

The sharp tip of a steel dagger ghosted slighting off his neck, pressing down ever so slightly to draw but a drop of blood. Delicately, he looked up, his wide blue eyes meeting none other than France's cold, emotionless gaze.

No.

There was something there. Something pleading, something almost sympathetic. But, not pity.

He did not want to kill him.

"France!" A voice, Gilbert's, came from behind them, "Don't! Don't you dare!"

Gilbert wasn't going to betray him, after all…? He had actually been there to save him?

And now he was going to die. Because his idiotic fears, which had been beaten into him from the day he left his peaceful home centuries ago, told him that his own brother would allow him to be killed.

Ludwig looked up at France, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. _Why me? What did I do to deserve this?_

"Francis Bonnefoy! Get the fuck away from my brother. Now!"

France looked from Gilbert to Ludwig, then down to the knife in his hand. His voice, nothing but a whisper, cracked as he finally spoke, "I'm so sorry."

The blade slashed his throat. He screamed out in horror, in pain. From in front of him, France's footsteps retreated, from behind him, he could hear yells, he could hear his name being called.

His knees crumbled under him, he could not breathe. He was in so much pain. So much unbearable pain that he wanted to die even faster. Just make to it go away.

_Please._

The cool grass brushed against his cheek, the pain slowly faded into numbness, bliss. He could vaguely hear voices close to him; he could faintly feel a hand in his own. The world, his life, slowly faded around him.

Then there was nothing.

* * *

_To be continued…_

In case anyone's wondering, Ludwig looks about fourteen during this time.

The more reviews I get, the faster I update(:


	2. Chapter 2

Still don't own APH. Sighh.

_No_.

This was not happening.

This could not be happening.

Gilbert stared, eyes wide with fear and disbelief, at the boy cradled in his lap. The frail, dying shell of what was supposed to be his brother did not move, he didn't even seem to breathe.

It wasn't fair.

_But, life's never fair, is it?_

No. It wasn't. If life was fair, Francis wouldn't have let this godforsaken war happen. There would be peace, disease would not exist, the rich would give to the poor. If life was fair, he wouldn't be sitting on a death ridden battlefield, hands stained with a child's, with Ludwig's blood.

The blood, there was so much blood. Covering him, covering Ludwig, seeping into the ground below. It made him sick with horror. Although he had managed to staunch the flow with his jacket, the image would never leave him. Watching him fall, that split second where he thought Ludwig was gone. Knowing that if he wasn't a nation, he would have already bled to death. Knowing how much pain he was in.

Unable to look any longer, he glanced around the abandoned field. He could clearly see the spot where they had found Ludwig. Where he had been horrified, his army had been defeated, he hadn't known who he could trust. He hadn't known if there was anyone he could trust.

And Gilbert had ignored all of that. He scared his brother away, he sent his little brother to his death. One of his once closest friends dealt the blow, but he did this to Ludwig.

This was his fault.

He could never take it back.

Roderich stepped closer a put a hand on his shoulder. Gilbert immediately shrugged away, not wanting comfort. He didn't need reassurance, he didn't need pity.

He needed revenge. He needed to make Francis pay for hurting, nearly killing Ludwig. Even if it was his fault, Francis was just as guilty. This entire war was his responsibility. Francis caused all of this to happen.

_Bloodshed begets bloodshed, vengeance begets vengeance. _

No. This wasn't a time to attempt to be rational. Francis deserved what was coming for him. He deserved hell. And Gilbert would be the one to cause it; he would make sure of that.

An eye for an eye, right?

He didn't care if they both went blind.

If Ludwig died, being figuratively blind would be the last of his worries. People die. People always die. Even Fritz. Nations shouldn't die, nations should never be this close to dying. Especially not young, innocent kids who have a long time ahead of them.

Biting his lip angrily, he looked down at Ludwig, still held carefully in his arms. Somehow, he managed to look serene, calm. As if he hadn't been in pain, as if he had just gone to sleep. Not dying. He didn't look like he was dying. If he was dying, there'd be pain, there'd be something. Right? No one died looking absolutely peaceful, so Ludwig couldn't be dying.

Or that was just his stubborn hope, clinging onto irrational ideas. Lying to himself, telling himself Ludwig was okay.

Because he had to live on.

"Gilbert…"

_Just ignore him. _

"Gilbert."

Turning his head, the Prussian glowered at Roderich, "What?"

"I found bandages. Let me see him."

For a moment, he clutched his brother closer, childishly thinking that if he let him go, he would never get him back. Despite his disdain for the annoyingly composed Austrian, he would never hurt Ludwig.

"I stopped the bleeding," Gilbert argued half-heartedly, simply for the sake of disagreeing with Roderich. Nevertheless, he allowed the Austrian to lift Ludwig from his arms, his gaze never leaving the latter's face, holding onto a desperate, useless hope that his eyes would flutter open, his lips would slightly part, that he would show some semblance of life.

_Please. _

Pleading was useless. He knew that. He could fall to his knees, clutch his hands together and beg to the heavens, but nothing would ever come from it. The only thing that could help his brother was the fate of the Holy Roman Empire.

If the empire fell, Ludwig would die. If the empire survived, he would follow suit.

If he were to think rationally, there was a fifty percent chance that his brother would live…

…And a fifty percent chance that he would die.

But, Gilbert was never one to think like that. Ludwig would endure, because he was strong, because he had the will to go on.

_As if that matters. _

Clenching his teeth, he turned back towards Roderich, the look in his eyes asking the question he didn't have the voice to ask.

_Is he going to be all right?_

_Is he going to live?_

Roderich was smarter. He looked at things clearly. He didn't think with emotions, he was rational.

In other words, the complete opposite of Gilbert.

"Physically, he'll be okay. His wound would've killed a normal human in moments, but in time he will heal."

That wasn't exactly answering the question, was it? Gilbert sighed. Roderich didn't know what was going to happen. No one did.

So they just had to wait?

There was nothing they could do?

There had to be something that they could do.

"What now?" He asked coldly, not even looking at Roderich as he spoke. He was angry. Pissed, actually. And the damn bastard he was angry at ran away like the coward he was. Maybe it wasn't fair to channel his resentment and his friend, but it was the only way to keep himself from doing something immensely stupid.

"We take him home."

_Well obviously. _

There was no point. What more was there to say?

A bird's scream brought his attention to the sky. Brilliant blue was shrouded by puffy, grey rainclouds, yet not a single drop fell. Off in the distance, he could make out a small, black speck, most likely said bird. As the creature flew closer, he began to make out various recognizable features. A sharp, curved beak, crisp black feathers. It was a beautiful bird. None other than his brilliant breeding, no doubt, created such a magnificent animal. It was one of his eagles; someone had sent his a message.

Gilbert whistled for the bird, helping it find him through the thick clouds. Upon hearing his master's call, the bird shot towards him, squawking happily. Gently it dropped the message into his hands, and then perched on his shoulder, preening its feathers.

He hesitated. Only four people were allowed anywhere near his birds. Two of those people were here with him.

The others were France and Antonio.

Antonio had no reason to be sending him a letter.

His fist clenched, he bit his lip. No words could express how much he wanted to tear that piece of paper to little bits, throw the pieces in a fire, and toss the ashes into the ocean, preferably one with hungry ash-eating sharks.

But, there was also the nagging feeling that there could be something important hidden in the mass of flowery, impossible to read handwriting and big French words with a hundred consonants at the end that are never pronounced.

Slowly, his hands trembling with anger, he unraveled the worn paper. As soon as his eyes lay upon the first sentence, he nearly gagged.

"_Bonjour, mon cher. Although I am sure I am the last person you would like to be hearing from, I have written with news of great importance to you. But, I would first like to mention how dearly sorry I am for attacking your brother. I was simply following orders, and you of all people know that when orders are made, they are impossible to ignore. It would be much easier if we could just ignore our emotions and do what we are told, but life is never as such, oui?"_

Gilbert cringed, hate filling his entire being. He didn't sound apologetic in the least. That…That emotionless monster nearly murdered his little brother, and yet he was not sorry in the least.

_He was just following orders my ass. He was doing it for his own benefit. Bastard. Fucking bastard. _

"_Nevertheless, I must now return to the point. Upon returning to my troops, I got word of terrible news. According to my leader, Francis II has abdicated himself and dissolved his country, your brother. I know not what will happen to the child, but I hope that he will survive. If he does not, I offer my sincerest apologies, although I know that they will not be accepted. I could not fathom how I would feel if my Mattieu, or even Feliciano, had been so horribly wounded and so close to death, I only know that it would be unbearable to know that the person who had caused him so much pain was once a close friend of mine. I also understand that you may not believe I share as close as a relationship to my adoptive younger brothers as you do with your brother, of whom you share the blood of your grandfather, but If you may trust me, I can guarantee you that I care for these children with my entire heart. I know that our relationship might be as good as gone, but I truly hope you can find it in yourself to forgive someone as close as a friend as I am. If you cannot, I will accept this, for this entire happening was caused by my following of irrational orders. _

_I will forever be sincerely sorry._

_Au revoir, Francis."_

The Prussian stared, horror contorting his features at one single sentence. He had barely comprehended the remainder of the message, only those nine words. _Francis II had abdicated himself and dissolved his country._

Even that was impossible to grasp.

His brother… His little Ludwig… had lost his country? He…his…his country had been dissolved? There was nothing left? Ludwig was a dead nation…?

No…

No…

This couldn't be happening.

This…

Ludwig…

His _brüderlein_...

...Was going to die?

He crumbled to his knees, the world faded around him. Nations…Nations aren't supposed to die! The only reason nations die is that other nations get power hungry…! But they knew better! Francis wouldn't kill someone. He had to have known that this was going to happen. And yet it still did. Francis killed his best friend's little brother.

How was that fair?

"Gilbert!"

His head shot up, crazed, bloodshot crimson eyes stared into wide, frightened violet. Roderich was staring at him, grimacing with badly hidden concern. His hand was suspended in the air, as if he was about to grab Gilbert, but suddenly stopped.

Wait.

He wasn't holding Ludwig.

Had he already disappeared? That quickly? No! It doesn't happen that fast. It could even take years! Then again… Ludwig had been nearly killed; maybe his body knew he wouldn't last much longer and just let go.

"Where's Ludwig? What happened to him? Where is he?"

"Gilbert, he's right over there, I laid him down against a tree, he's safe. Now, what's wrong? You were screaming. Saying no a lot. What happened?"

"The…The Holy Roman Empire had been dissolved."

Roderich paled, his head turned to glance at the child leaning against the tree. "He's going to die?" He whispered hollowly, as if he didn't know what he was saying. He looked back to Gilbert, and sat down onto the ground next to him.

"He's going to die…"

"There has to be a chance. Something has to happen to all the land left behind. Maybe, just maybe he'll survive."

It was a long shot, Gilbert knew that, but he had to hope. He had to believe that there was a chance, because if there wasn't, he wasn't even sure he could will himself to stand up, much less continue to live. This was his fault; he had failed to save his little brother. No. He made Ludwig run towards his own death.

_I can blame myself all I want. It's not going to save him. _

With the last of his strength, he stood, "We still have to take him home." He held out his trembling hand,

Roderich sullenly accepted the help, although barely able to life his arm. A tiny, nearly invisible smirk danced on Gilbert's lips, "You know, the last time I saw you this weak I had just kicked your ass, makes me rather nostalgic."

The Austrian rolled his eyes, and turned away as Gilbert sauntered off to go pick up Ludwig. For some reason, seeing Gilbert being Gilbert, always bringing up one of the only times he's won, made him smile, made things seem almost normal.

Almost.

Gilbert returned quickly, carrying Ludwig carefully. His eyes were downcast, and, frankly, he looked as if was about to cry.

But he never cried. Under no circumstances would he ever cry. Crying was for the weak, he didn't need tears. Words, tears, nothing could express how miserable he was, so what was the point in crying? It was like saying that he was sad, over and over again. There was no reason to.

At least, that's what he told himself.

And so they walked. Not a single word was spoken, not a sound was made except the hushed tapof their feet against the muddy ground.

Neither of them knew what was going to happen, neither of them knew what to do.

But, they both knew this wasn't over. Far from it.

Fail ending is a fail?

Uhm. I've always liked the idea of Gilbo raising eagles. I don't know why, it's just something he'd do. That's where he gets his chicks. :D And the messenger eagle flew off when Gilbert broke down; I just didn't have a spot to incorporate that.

Er, I also believe that Feli is sorta like a little brother to Francis.

And yeah.

Thank you for reading, reviews make my day. :D


	3. Chapter 3

Ack! Sorry, sorry, sorry for taking forever. First I had a ton of school stuff to do, and then when I finally got to writing I just couldn't make the chapter flow, so I sort of changed the entire chapter's general plot. Then I managed to get more homework. If school behaves, I should try to update faster.

Rated for Gilbert's mouth/third person narration, which as probably worse than his mouth. Er, and on that subject, my Gilbo-narration is kinda ADD, because, in my opinion, a worried Gilbert equals nervous wreck/spastic irrational, and slightly childish, anger.

Despite my excuses, I still continue to hate how this chapter came out. I'm sorry.

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"He's feverish."

Gilbert Biellschmidt stopped abruptly, his absent-minded pacing being interrupted by that little, annoying buzzing sound, the one that sounds like a fly fluttering right next to your ear.

Like, _buzzhe'sbuzzbuzzfeverishbuzzbuzzbuzz._

Oh wait, that was Roderich.

Same difference. Actually, a fly complained at lot less. Well, about every living creature on Earth, and probably on all the other planets too, complained a lot less.

Then again, the Austrian had been checking on the kid, hadn't he? So, he could've said something important. Because the truth was, Ludwig was unconscious and dying, no doctors in sight, and in the hands of Gilbert and Roderich. Neither of which, he was sad to say, were very capable in dying child care. Frankly, when together, the two of them couldn't do much but argue.

"_Maybe we can set aside our differences for the sake of Ludwig, just this once," _the Austrian had said, which resulted in the usual rejection.

Them dealing with each other was about as likely as Francis and Arthur getting married.

_Or Ludwig surviving this…_

_Shut up, shut up, shut up!_

Gilbert was completely positive that his brother was going to make it. Ludwig knew damn well that if he died that his big brother was going to bring him back to life just to kill him for being stupid enough to fucking die.

As long as he was able to ignore Roderich's droning, the Prussian could care for the Ludwig, right? Austria never said anything important enough to be listened to, so as long as he blocked him out, then everything should work out fine, without any pointless bickering.

Right?

"You do know that feverish means that he is sick…?"

_Buzzbuzzbuzz. _

Wait. There were three people in the room. Him, Wuss, and West.

There was no way Roderich was talking about him, because that would involve some personal space invasion to figure out that he had a fever. And although Gilbert wouldn't put it past the Austrian to speak in third person, Roderich knew that unless he was dying, Prussia didn't care whether he was sick.

Which left Ludwig.

Which meant Ludwig was sick.

Figures.

Spinning on his heel, Gilbert marched over to the child, brushing past Roderich with little to no acknowledgment.

Their relationship was so warm and fuzzy.

The horrifying thing was that Austria had been right. The kid was sick. And Austria had been _right_.

Neither of those should ever, ever happen.

And, yet, they did.

Alright, the fact that Ludwig was burning up was much more important. And this wasn't the standard kind of fever; this was the touch his forehead and scald your hand kind.

This was really, really bad.

"His neck thing, it's infected, isn't it?"

Neck thing. That was descriptive. But, hell, what was he supposed to call it? _Huge gaping gash, caused by the one and only Francis Bonnefoy, one of my former best friends. _

"That or it's because of the status of his nation."

"Psh. You mean the fact that your prick of a boss abdicated himself from his position as the Holy Roman Emperor, effectively abolishing the entire freaking empire? Or were you trying to rub it in that someone I used to trust with my _life_ did this to one of the only people who matter to me? Huh? You going to answer me, prissy boy? Or are you just going to sit there and be useless, 'cause that's all you ever do!"

Well. If anything, that felt pretty damn good.

Of course, he should have figured that his little rant would piss Roderich off.

"You make it seem as if you are the only one in the world who gives a damn about him. Do you know…Can you imagine what it's going to be like to tell Elizaveta, to tell Feliciano? Yes, maybe now that he's actually seen as a he, his feelings might have changed, but you cannot deny that Feli might still care for Ludwig, can you? Do you think I don't care? I raised him! Yeah, so maybe he left me, maybe he came to you. Does that mean I don't care? Does that make it any easier to accept that he could die, because of my incompetence?"

Gilbert finally turned to look at Roderich; his crimson eyes alight with hatred.

This wasn't about how hard it was going to be to tell everyone. This was about his little brother, how his little brother is lying on his freaking death bed.

This wasn't about Gilbert, this wasn't about Roderich.

This was about Ludwig.

At the same time, it was about them. It couldn't be about Ludwig without it being about them. They were all connected.

But, Gilbert still wanted a reason to yell at the aristocratic priss,

"Oh, get the hell over yourself, buddy. Yeah, it'll be hell to tell people that he's dying. But, oh wait, did I forget to mention that he's fucking dying? How do you think Ludwig feels right now? What do you think is going inside that head of his? Do you think he's happy, skipping in flower fields and all that shit? Not a chance. See that look on his face," he paused, dramatically gesturing towards the boy, "That's pain! I know you've never seen it before, being too much of a sissy to handle a little fighting, but that right there is pain. Pain worse than you ever felt. I bet its bad enough that he wants to die. It has to be."

At this point, there wasn't a pause between one of them yelling and the other. They weren't thinking about what they were saying, they were venting. Letting out all the anger, the regret, the sadness, the misery.

It was their special way of crying.

"You don't know what's going on in his mind right now, Gilbert. You're not him. If you were in the same situation, maybe those would be your thoughts, but Ludwig would never give up. Now would you please _shut the hell up_ so I can see what's wrong with him."

Being the stubborn ass he was, Gilbert refused to let him through, "Don't you think you can get out of this mess you've made. You don't know shit about my little brother, and as much as I, oh god, agree with you that West would never give up—"

"Just stop, Gilbert," Roderich cut him off, proceeding to shove past the fuming Prussian, "I know your pride is easily bruised, but you must understand that Ludwig is a bit more important than your arrogance."

With a heavy sigh, Prussia turned away, receding to a small corner of the room. Although it continued to pain him to admit so, Austria was right. As usual.

Rational bastard.

"_Oh no, you're just stupid, and I'm going to show off and be all pompous and perfect by pretending I care about your little brother more than you do, while you sit there and look stupid because, even though I started it, I became the bigger man."_

Damn him.

In all honesty, what could he do? He was a Prussian, made for fighting, for winning, not for sitting on the sidelines and healing the wounded. That was the sissy Austrian type thing to do. Right?

_Damn, damn, damn!_

Gilbert wanted to scream. Why was he always so useless? Why could he never do anything right? Everyone he had ever come to care for, he failed them.

He always ends up hurting them in the end.

He really needed to hit something. Right now. Hard. Although punching the wall generally freed him from the pent up anger, breaking his hand was not high on his to-do list.

Unless he broke his hand on Francis's face. That would be fine.

Actually, that didn't seem like such a bad idea.

Hadn't he wanted, needed revenge, just hours ago? Wasn't now a perfect time to do so? What else did he have to do other than to wallow in self-pity?

"Hey. Roderich. I'm going over to talk to Francis."

The Austrian craned his neck to look at him, eyebrows raised in skeptical curiosity, "Why? Nothing he has to say will justify what he did. There's no point."

"Heh. I don't know what I'm going to do, but it beats sitting here and being useless. Just make sure the kid's alright, okay?"

Glaring, Roderich turned away, "I can't promise anything. We still don't know if he'll live or die. Actually, if he asks, tell Francis he's dead. Just in case."

"Just in case of what?"

"God knows what Francis will do for power at this point. He tried to, and succeeded for the most part, kill his best friend's brother. There was no remorse, no regret. If he finds out that Ludwig has a chance to rise again, do you think he'll sit back and let it happen?"

It was frightening how disturbingly true that was.

* * *

Gilbert and Roderich seem so Bi-Polar.

Please review?


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